


Break

by Rospberry



Category: Primeval
Genre: Angst, Depression, Gen, Language, Loneliness, Loss of Parent(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-30
Updated: 2017-03-30
Packaged: 2018-10-13 01:05:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10503234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rospberry/pseuds/Rospberry
Summary: Even with the passage of time, you never really get over the loss of a parent.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to fredbassett for words of encouragement and a swift tidy up, and featuring a very brief mention of two of her OCs, Lyle and Ditzy.

Ryan threw the coffee mug, anger radiating from every pore as it shattered against the break room wall, ugly trails of brown splattering the white tiles reminiscent of blood splatter at a vicious crime scene.

Stephen faltered in the doorway, clearly torn between walking away or risking being the target of Ryan’s wrath; not unlikely given Ryan’s fragile mood of late.

He took a step in the room. “You all right?” he asked hesitantly.

Ryan froze, an angry retort automatically on his lips but, for once, he didn’t voice it. With a heavy sigh, he felt his shoulders drop, and replied honestly, “No, not really.”

“Want to talk about it?”

A frown furrowed his brow. Did he? He turned, half-shrugged at Stephen. “S’pose. If you’ve got a minute.”

“Long as it takes,” Stephen said, eyebrow quirking in his own facial equivalent of a shrug, moving to the table and sliding his long frame onto a chair.

Ryan didn’t sit. Couldn’t. He felt the restless urge to keep moving, deciding to clean up the mess of broken crockery while he spoke. That way he wouldn’t have to watch whatever expression would be crystal clear on Stephen’s expressive face. What would it be? Contempt? Pity? Scorn?

The pieces of mug dripped a trail as he tossed them into the bin. “Know I’m being a complete arse to everyone,” Ryan said. “Just been feeling a bit off lately. Dunno why, really.”

“Yeah, you do.”

Ryan felt a surge of irritation at Stephen’s toneless retort, which he quelled. Hart had a point: if he didn’t know why he felt off, he wouldn’t have started talking about it, would he?

“Just feeling lost these days, y’know?” Ryan paused. “Or maybe you don’t. I hope you don’t.”

Stephen said nothing, and Ryan wasn’t sure if it was acquiescence or just a tactful ‘get the fuck on with it’ silence.

Get on with it, he would. He’d started so now he might as well keep going. Flinging open a cupboard door, he found a cloth. “Some days it’s hard to get out of bed. I’m just existing, I think, not living. Forgotten what it’s like to want to do anything.”

The cloth was more successful at spreading the coffee across the wall rather than soaking it up. “I’m thinking about my dad a lot. It’s not just him, but he’s part of it. Did I tell you I came from a big family? Probably not. Don’t really talk much about personal stuff, do I?”

“Not really.”

“No. Sorry ‘bout that.” He wasn’t sure why he was sorry but he said it anyway. “I was the baby of them all, though. Mum and dad, my nan and granddad, Auntie Beryl that came to visit every summer and ended up moving in when she started to get a bit doddery. Big old house, see. Plenty of room. Was great growing up; always loads of people visiting, massive dinner parties, and you should have seen them all at Christmas. Cousins coming out of the woodwork. Problem is, though, when all your family is that bit older there comes a time when there’s only you left.”

Wringing out the cloth yielded a pathetic amount of liquid. “It was just me and dad for a few years after mum died. Was a shock to us both, losing mum. Heart attack, they said. Went out to the shops and never came home. Took me and dad quite a while to get over it properly; spent far too long at the pub those days.” His smile was sad. “Then we thought we’d get a pup. Best idea we ever had, that was. Kept him company when I was on ops, got him out of the house – generally to the pub and bookies, granted, but out.

“The cancer was an ugly bastard. Took him slowly. Thought he’d beaten it at one point, but no, it came back with a fucking vengeance. The old bugger fought it every step of the way, though. Never gave up. Always thought he’d beat it, even when he was...” he faltered then, the words catching in his throat, he couldn’t voice them so he moved on.

“Two years ago, that was. Some days, it seems like yesterday, others...” The tap sloshed noisily as he turned it, filling the sink with water, as he squirted in some washing up liquid. “That’s when you feel guilty, you know. When you go a day and realise you haven’t thought of him once. Hurts like a kick in the bollocks when you realise.”

He poked at the dishcloth in the water. Thought about stopping, but carried on anyway.

“I expect to see him in the kitchen when I get back from an op. Making me a cup of tea, listening to me whinge about the bureaucracy. He’d have loved all the dinosaurs. Would’ve made his century, that would, although trying to stop him telling anyone else about it…” He swallowed. “It’s hard not having him there any more. You go home at night and there’s no one to talk to; no one around that gives a fuck if you actually even come home.

“Pathetic,” he said softly, mostly to himself, rinsing the cloth in the soapy water. “I thought it was getting better. Thought I was starting to move on. Then it hits you – is that all there is? This life. You live, you die, and no fucker really cares. And why should they? If I was gone tomorrow would anyone actually give a shit?”

“I’d care,” Stephen said quietly. “Ditzy and Lyle and-”

“No,” Ryan said roughly. “No, you wouldn’t. Yeah, you might miss me for a bit while you get the team rearranged. Have a moment while you empty my locker and say some words over my grave, but then you’d move on. I’m not important, and that’s as it should be. It’s what I’m good at; being the disposable soldier, front line fodder in any op.”

“Christ, Ryan, that’s not-” but Ryan spoke over him, not wanting to listen.

“It’s pathetic, I know, but some days I think if it wasn’t for the bloody dog, I would just take myself off to the woods and put an end to it all.” And there, he’d said it: the unspeakable thing rattling around in his head. The constant, fucking, relentless thought. “Then I think that’s a bit selfish, someone would have to find me, so maybe letting the next T. rex have its way would be easier.”

Stephen sounded horrified. “You can’t-”

Ryan held up a hand. “No, it’s fine. Dog’s still here, so not going anywhere. Can’t impose on the neighbours all the time to feed and walk him.”

“But what if the dog wasn’t here?”

Ryan’s fingers tightened on the edge of the sink and he stared into the soapy water blankly. Bubbles flickered incandescently in the fluorescent lighting. “He is, though.”

He blinked then, stared down at an empty sink; the low rumble of the fridge, the soft tick-tick of the break room clock the only sounds.

That’s what he would have said, had Stephen asked, but Stephen hadn’t. He’d about turned and left the room to avoid Ryan’s outburst.

Coffee still dripped down the wall, shards of pottery scattered on the ground. The room behind him empty.

He started looking for a cloth; he had to get home to feed the dog.


End file.
